Postcards From Paris: Bound by His Desert Diamond / Amorous Liaisons / The Secret to Marrying Marchesi

‘I apologise.’ His voice sounded raw, unfamiliar, as alien to him as the wild sensations that were coursing through the rest of his body. Sensations that he realised would be all too evident if Annalina raised her eyes to his groin. He shifted his position, adjusting the fit of his trousers.

But Annalina wasn’t looking at him. She was busy with her hair, combing her fingers through the blonde tresses, arranging it so that it fell over her shoulders. Then she leant forward to retrieve the clips that had fallen to the floor.

‘What is there to be sorry for?’ Now her eyes met his, cold, controlled, defiant. ‘We are engaged, after all.’ She held the largest clip in her hand, a hinged, tortoiseshell affair which now squeaked as she opened and closed its teeth, as if it was ready to take a bite out of him. ‘You are perfectly at liberty to kiss me. To do whatever you like with me, in fact. At least, that’s been the impression you have given me so far.’

There was rebellion in her voice now, matched by the arched posture, the arrogant, feline grace. But her lips, Zahir noticed, were still swollen from the force of their kiss, the delicate skin of her jaw flushed pink where his stubbled chin had scraped against her. And for some reason this gave him a twisted sense of achievement—as if he had marked his territory, claimed her. Especially as, now, everything about Annalina was trying to deny it.

‘Perhaps you would do well to remember that this is all your doing, Annalina. You have brought about this situation and you only have yourself to blame. I am merely trying to find a workable solution.’

A solution that should not involve ripping the clothes off her the moment they were alone.

‘I know, I know.’ Rising to her feet, Annalina planted herself squarely in front of him, sticking out her bottom lip like a sulky teenager. Barefoot, she seemed ridiculously tiny, delicate, her temper making her brittle, as if she would snap in two were he to reach forward and grasp her with his warrior’s hands.

‘And, whilst we’re on the subject of workable solutions, perhaps you would like to tell me how long I am expected to stay in Nabatean. I have duties in my own country, you know, matters that require my attention.’

‘I’m sure.’ Zahir gritted his jaw against the desire to close the small gap between them and punish her impertinence with another bruising kiss. ‘In that case, no doubt you will be relieved to know that you’ll be returning to Dorrada the day after tomorrow.’

‘Oh, right.’ Annalina shifted her weight lightly from one foot to the other, placing her hand provocatively on her hip. ‘Well, that’s good.’

‘I have a number of meetings scheduled for tomorrow but have cleared my diary for the following couple of days.’

He watched, not without some satisfaction, as her frown of incomprehension turned to a scowl of realisation. Her toes, he noticed, were curling against the bare boards.

‘You mean...?’

‘Yes, Annalina. I will be accompanying you. I very much look forward to visiting your country.’

CHAPTER SEVEN

OPENING THE SHUTTERS, Anna shielded her eyes against the glare of the sun. Not the sun glinting off the towering glass edifices of Medira this time, or shimmering above the distant desert, but bouncing off the freshly fallen snow that blanketed the ground, weighing down the fir trees and covering the roofs of the town of Valduz that nestled in the valley in the distance.

She was back at Valduz Castle, the only home she had ever known. Perched on a craggy outcrop at the foothills of the Pyrenees mountain range, the castle was like something out of a fairy tale, or a Dracula movie, depending on your point of view. Built in the fourteenth century, it was all stone walls, turrets and battlements, fully prepared for any marauding invaders. It was not, however, prepared for the twenty-first century. Cold, damp and in desperate need of repair, its occupants—including Anna, her father and the bare minimum of staff—only inhabited a very small portion of it, living in a kind of squalid grandeur: priceless antique furniture had been pushed aside to make room for buckets to catch the drips, steel joists propping up ceilings decorated with stunning fifteenth-century frescoes.

But all this was about to change. Turning around, Anna surveyed her childhood bedroom in all its forlorn glory. Once she married Zahir, money would no longer be a problem for this impoverished nation. Valduz Castle would be restored, and limitless funds would be pumped into the Dorradian economy to improve its infrastructure, houses, hospitals and schools. Dorrada’s problems would soon be over. And hers would be just beginning.

But she could feel no sense of achievement for her part in turning around Dorrada’s fortunes. Instead there was just a hollow dread where maybe pride should have sat—a deep sense of unease that she had sold her soul to the devil. Or at least as close to a devil as she had ever come across. And that very devil was right here, under the leaking roofs of this ancient castle.

They had arrived in Dorrada the previous evening, her father greeting Zahir like an honoured guest, clearly having no concerns that his daughter was marrying the wrong brother. The two of them had retired immediately to her father’s study and that had been the last Anna had seen of them. Presumably the financial talks had been the top priority and had gone on long into the night. Anna was obviously of significantly less importance to either of them. Zahir, professional but detached, appeared to be treating this like just another business trip, all traces of the man who had been on the brink of ravishing her banished behind that formidable, impenetrable facade.

Anna closed her eyes against the memory of that kiss—hot, wild, and so forceful it had felt as if he was branding her with his lips, claiming her in the most carnal way. It still did. The memory refused to leave her, still curling her toes, clenching her stomach and heating her very core.

And Zahir had felt it too, no matter how much his subsequent demeanour might be trying to deny it. His arousal had been all too evident—electrifying, empowering. Trapped in his embrace, she had felt alive, confident, sexy. And ready. More than ready, in fact. Desperate for Zahir to take things further, to throw her to the floor and make love to her there and then, any way he wanted. To possess her, make her feel whole, complete, a real woman.

But what had happened? Nothing, that was what. Having taken her to the point of no return, he had stopped, leaving her a quivering, gasping, flushed-faced mess, unable to do anything other than stare up at him as he bit out between gritted teeth that he was sorry. Sorry? Anna didn’t want sorry. It had taken every ounce of effort to come back from that, to hide the crushing disappointment and act as if she didn’t give a damn.

But today was a new day. She was on her own home turf, the sun was shining and the stunning scenery outside was calling her. Pulling on jeans and a thick roll-neck sweater, she released the curtain of hair trapped down her back and quickly fashioned two loose plaits. Grabbing a woolly hat, she was good to go.

The virgin snow crunched beneath her boots as she trudged around the wall of the castle, the white puff of her breath going before her. She didn’t know exactly where she was headed, except that she wanted to enjoy this moment alone, commit it to memory. She loved mornings like this, bright and still, unchanged down the centuries. But how many more would she experience? No doubt once she was married she would be expected to spend all her time in Nabatean, to swap the sparkling cold of the mountains for the sweltering heat of the desert, the stark loneliness of her life here for the scary unknown that was her future with Zahir.

It was time to leave the child behind—Anna knew that. Time to grow up and do something meaningful with her life. And being born a princess meant making an advantageous marriage. She should have accepted the idea by now. After all, she’d had twenty-five years to get used to it. But even so, now it was actually happening, the thought of leaving everything she knew and marching off into the desert sun with this dark and mysterious stranger was completely terrifying.

The lingering child in her made her bend down and scoop up a large handful of snow, compacting it into a hard ball and then smoothing it between her icy hands. Her eyes scanned the scene for a target. A robin eyed her nervously before swooping off to the branches of a nearby tree. An urn at the top of the crenulated wall that wound its way down the stone steps had no such escape, though, and, taking aim, Anna held the icy missile aloft and prepared to fire.

‘You’ll never get any power behind it like that.’ A strong, startlingly warm hand gripped her wrist, bringing her arm down by her side. ‘Throwing is all about the velocity. You need to stand with your feet apart and then turn at the waist, like this.’ The hands now spanned her midriff, twisting her body in readiness for the perfect aim. Anna tensed, staring at the snowball in her hand, frankly surprised to see it still there. The heat coursing through her body felt powerful enough to melt an iceberg. ‘Now bring back your arm, like this...’ he bent her elbow, holding her arm behind her ‘...and you are ready to go. Don’t forget to follow through.’

The snowball arced above them before disappearing with a soft thud into a deep snowdrift.

‘Hmm...’ Turning to face her, Zahir quirked a thick brow. ‘I can see more practice is needed.’

Anna stared back at him, drinking in the sight. He looked very foreign, exotic, in the bright, snowy whiteness of these surroundings. Wearing a long charcoal cashmere coat, the collar turned up, his skin appeared darker somehow, his close-cropped hair blacker, his broad body too warm—too hot, even—for these sub-zero temperatures. It was almost as if he could defy nature by appearing so unaffected by the cold. That you could remove the man from the desert, but not the desert from the man. Anna adjusted her hat, regretting her choice of headgear as she felt the silly bobble on top do a wobble. ‘It’s too late for me, I fear. After all, I won’t be here for much longer.’

‘Will you miss your country?’ The question came out of nowhere with its usual directness. But his eyes showed his seriousness as he waited for her answer.

‘Yes, of course.’ Anna bit down on her lip, determined that the bobble on her hat was the only thing that was going to wobble. She would be strong now. Show Zahir that she was a capable, independent woman. That she would be an asset to him, not a burden. ‘But I am looking forward to the challenges of a new life, with you. I am one hundred percent committed to making this union work, for the sake of both of our countries.’

‘That’s good to hear.’ Still his gaze raked across her like a heat-seeking missile. ‘And what about on a more personal level, Annalina? You and me. Are you one hundred percent committed to making that union work too?’

‘Yes, of course.’ Anna fought against the heat of his stare. What was he trying to do to her? She was struggling to put on a convincing performance here. She didn’t need him messing with the script. ‘I will try to be a good wife to you, to fulfil my duty to the best of my abilities.’

‘Duty, Annalina. Is that what this is all about?’

‘Well, yes. As it is with you.’ Dark eyebrows raised and then fell again, taking Anna’s stomach with them. ‘But that doesn’t mean we can’t be happy.’

‘Then you might want to tell your face.’ Raising a hand, he cupped her jaw, his hand so large that it covered her chin and lower cheeks, seductively grazing her bottom lip. Anna trembled, his touch halting her cold breath painfully in her throat. ‘What is it that you fear, Annalina? Is it the thought of tying yourself to a man such as myself? A man ignorant of the manners of Western culture, more at home in a desert sandstorm, or riding bareback on an Arab stallion, than making polite conversation in a grand salon or waltzing you around a palace ballroom?’

‘No...it’s not that.’

‘I am not the cultured European prince you were hoping for?’ Suddenly bitterness crept into his voice.

‘No, it’s not that, Zahir. Really.’

‘What, then? I need to know.’ The searing intensity in his eyes left her in no doubt about that. ‘Do you fear that I am such a difficult man to please?’ His voice dropped.

Yes. ‘Impossible’ might be a better word. Anna stared back at him, tracing the map of his face with her eyes: the grooves between eyebrows that were so used to being pulled into a scowl, the lines scored across a forehead that frowned all too easily. Had she ever even seen him smile? She wasn’t sure. How did she have any hope of pleasing such a man?

‘I fear I may need time to learn the ways to make you happy.’ She chose her words carefully, trying to avoid snagging herself on the barbed wire all around her. Trying to conceal the inbuilt dread that she might not be able to satisfy him. Her abortive night of shame with Henrik still haunted her, plagued her with worry and self-doubt. And the way Zahir had dismissed it had done nothing to allay her fears either, merely demonstrated that he no idea of the scale of the problem. That he didn’t understand.

‘All being well, time is something we have plenty of, my princess.’ The very masculine gleam in his eye only made Anna feel a hundred times worse. ‘A lifetime together, in fact.’

‘Yes, indeed. A lifetime...’ Her voice tailed off.

‘And learning to please one another need not be such an arduous task.’ His thumb stroked over her lower lip.

‘No, of course not.’ Anna’s heart took up a thumping beat. His gentle touch, the depth of his dark stare, spelled out exactly the sort of pleasure he was talking about: intimate, sexual pleasure. It shone in his eyes and it clenched deep down in Anna’s belly.

She had spent so long worrying about how to satisfy Zahir that it hadn’t even occurred to her that sex was a reciprocal thing. That he might be thinking of ways to pleasure her. Now hot bolts of desire ricocheted through her at the thought of it. Of Zahir’s large rough-skinned hands travelling over her naked body, moving between her thighs, pushing them apart, spanning the mound of her sex before exploring within. A shiver of longing rippled through her and she had to squeeze her muscles tight to halt its progress.

‘I must go.’ Releasing her chin, Zahir let his thumb rest against her lip for a second, gently dragging it down. Then he took a step away. ‘Your father has meetings arranged for me all morning. However, I have set aside this afternoon for us to spend some time together.’

‘You have?’ Anna couldn’t keep the surprise from her voice, nor cover up the leap of excitement that coloured her cheeks.

‘After your little lecture about the role of a host, I assume you will be willing to show me around Dorrada?’

‘Yes, of course.’

‘Time is limited—I leave for Nabatean first thing tomorrow—but I should like to take in some of the sights before I go.’

‘You’re going back to Nabatean tomorrow?’ This was news to her.

‘Correct.’

‘Alone?’

‘I take it that won’t be a problem?’

‘Not for me, I can assure you.’ Anna fiddled with one of her plaits. ‘So does this mean you finally trust me or am I to be surrounded by your minders?’

‘No minders.’ Zahir narrowed his eyes as he contemplated her question. ‘But trust is not something I find easy to give. Once you have suffered the sort of betrayal I have, it is hard to ever completely trust anyone again.’

‘I’m sure.’ Anna lowered her eyes. At first she had thought he was talking about her, what she had done on the bridge in Paris. But the pain in his eyes ran deeper than that, far deeper. She wanted to ask more but Zahir was already pulling down the shutters, aware that he had said too much.

‘However, I’m prepared to give you the freedom to prove yourself.’ He levelled dark eyes at her. ‘Just make sure you don’t let me down.’

* * *

‘I suppose we should be getting back to the castle.’ Night was starting to close in, the first stars appearing in the sky, and reluctantly Anna felt in her pocket for the car keys. Their whistle-stop tour of Dorrada was nearly over, something that disappointed Anna more than she would ever have imagined.

Zahir hadn’t bothered to hide his surprise when she had pulled up in front of the castle in the battered old four-by-four vehicle and gestured to him to get in beside her. Warily easing himself into the passenger seat, he had shot her one of his now familiar hooded stares, leaving her in no doubt that this was a situation he did not feel comfortable with—whether that was being driven by a woman, or her in particular, she didn’t know. And didn’t care. She was a good driver, she knew the roads around here like the back of her hand, and the challenging conditions of this wintry climate posed no problems for her. And even if he’d looked as though he was coming perilously close to grabbing the wheel off her a couple of times—especially on some of the spectacular hairpin bends that snaked up through the mountains—he had just about managed to restrain himself, travelling every inch of the road with his eyes instead.

Deciding where to take her guest had been difficult. Dorrada was only a small country but the scenery was spectacular and there were so many places Anna would have liked to show him. But time was short so she had limited herself to a trip up into the mountains, with several stops to admire the views, including the place where an ancient cable car still vertiginously cranked tourists down to the valley below. Then she had given him a rapid tour of the town of Valduz, unable to stop because she’d known they would attract too much attention. People turned to stare at them as they passed anyway, rapidly pulling out their phones to take a photo, or just waving excitedly as their princess and her exotic fiancé drove by.

The last stop on Anna’s tour had brought them to this mountain lakeside, one of her favourite places. Originally she hadn’t intended to bring Zahir here but somehow it had happened and now she was glad of that. Because as they had crunched their way along the shoreline, stopped to take in the stunning sunset rippling across the crystal-clear water, she knew that Zahir was feeling the beauty of the place every bit as much as her. Not that he said so. Zahir was a man of few words, using communication as a mere necessity to have his wishes understood or his orders obeyed. But there had been a stillness as he’d gazed across the water to the snow-capped mountains beyond, an alertness in the way he’d held his body, that had told Anna how much he was feeling the magic of this place. They hadn’t needed any words.

‘There’s no rush, is there?’ Zahir turned to look at her, his face all sharp-angled lines and shadows in the dim light.

‘Well, no, but it’s getting dark. There’s not much point in me taking you sightseeing if you can’t see the sights.’

‘I like the dark.’ Zahir laid the statement baldly before her, as if it was all that was needed to be said. Anna didn’t doubt it. She already thought of him a man of the night, a shadowed, stealthy predator that would stalk his prey—would curl his hands around the throat of an enemy before they even knew of his existence. ‘Is that some sort of cabin over there between those trees?’

Anna followed his finger, which was pointing to the other side of the lake. ‘Yes, it’s an old hunter’s cabin.’

‘Shall we take a look?’

Anna hesitated. She didn’t need to take a look, she was all too familiar with the modest cabin. She should be. She’d been escaping here for years, to her own little bolthole, whenever the bleak reality of her life in the castle got too much for her.

It was to here that she had fled all those years ago, on being told that her mother had died. That she would never see her again. Here, too, much more recently, she’d sat staring at the rustic walls, trying to come to terms with the fact that a marriage had been arranged for her. That she was to be shipped off to a place called Nabatean to marry the newly crowned king. And look how that had turned out.

The cabin was her secret place. Taking Zahir there would feel strange. But somehow exciting too.

‘Sure, if you like.’ Affecting a casual tone, she started walking. ‘D’you want to follow me?’

They set off, Anna leading the way around the lake and into the fringes of the forest of pine trees. It was too dark to see much but she knew the way by heart. Zahir was right behind her every step, so close that they moved as almost one being, their feet crunching on snow that had crystallised to ice. She could sense the heat from his body, feel the power of it all around her. It made her feel both safe and jumpy at the same time, butterflies leaping about in her tummy.

Finally they came to a small clearing and there was the log cabin before them, looking like a life-size gingerbread house. The door was wedged shut by a drift of snow but with a few swift kicks Zahir had cleared it and soon they were both standing inside.

‘There should be some matches here somewhere.’ Running her hands over the table next to her, Anna opened the drawer, relieved to feel the box beneath her fingertips. ‘I’ll just light the paraffin lamp.’

‘Here, let me.’ Taking the matches from her Zahir reached up and, removing the glass funnel from the lamp, touched a flame to the wick. ‘Hmm...’ With a grunt of approval, he looked around him in the flickering light. ‘Basic but perfectly functional. You say it was a hunter’s cabin?’

‘Yes, hence the trophies.’ Anna pointed to the mounted deer heads that gazed down on them with glassy-eyed stares. ‘But it hasn’t been used for years. Valduz Castle used to host hunting parties in the past, but, thankfully for the local wildlife, those days have gone.’

‘But you come here?’

‘Well, yes, now and again.’ Was it that obvious? His directness immediately put her on the defensive. ‘I used to like it here as a kid. Other children had play houses and I had my own log cabin!’ She attempted a light-hearted laugh but as the light played over Zahir’s harsh features they showed no softening. He merely waited for her to elaborate. ‘And now I sometimes come here when I want to think, you know? Get away from it all.’

‘I understand.’ The deep rumble of his voice, coupled with the hint of compassion in his dark eyes threatened to unravel something deep inside her.

‘Shall we light a fire?’ Hideously chirpy—she’d be asking him if he wanted to play mummies and daddies in a minute—Anna moved over to the open hearth. ‘There should be plenty of logs.’

Immediately Zahir took charge, deftly getting the fire going with the efficiency of a man well used to such a task. Anna watched as he sat forward on his haunches, blowing onto the scraps of bark until the smoke turned to flames and the flames took hold. There was something primal about his movements. Hypnotic. Mission accomplished, he sat back on his heels.

‘I think there’s some brandy here somewhere if you’d like some?’ Needing to break the spell, Anna moved over to a cupboard and pulled out a dusty bottle and a couple of tumblers.

‘I never drink alcohol.’

‘Oh.’ Now she thought about it, she realised she had never seen him drink. ‘Is that because of your religion or for some other reason?’ She poured a modest amount into one glass.

‘I don’t believe in deliberately altering the state of my mind with toxic substances.’

Right. Anna glanced at the drink in her hand, sheer contrariness making her add another good measure before turning back to look around her. There was only one chair in the cabin, a rickety old wooden rocker, but the bare floor was scattered with animal skins and she moved to seat herself beside Zahir in front of the fire.

Zahir cast her a sideways glance, as if unsure how to deal with this situation, before finally settling his large frame beside her, sitting cross-legged and staring into the flames. For a moment there was silence, just the crackling of the logs. Anna took a gulp of brandy, screwing up her eyes against its burn.